


Magic or Something Like It

by mozbee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is a Magician, Crowley is a jinx, Crowley is his reluctant assistant, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:02:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozbee/pseuds/mozbee
Summary: Anathema smacks him on the back of the head.“Idiot! You’ve jinxed us now!”Crowley rolls his eyes and steps out of reach. “Keep your voodoo to yourself, that’s not a thing.”He trips over a croquet ball as he stalks off. Then his beer goes flying into the one stroller at the party with a kid still in it.And apparently Rocko the Party Clown has cancelled and it's Crowley's fault, too.The party's host, Aziraphale, comes to the rescue with a magician's hat and a pink sequin tutu.Crowley has the sinking feeling the tutu is for him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	Magic or Something Like It

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 24th fic, which makes me happy because that's like, my favourite number, man.

Crowley walks through a cheerily painted wooden gate to get to the garden. He hovers uncertainly for a moment as he looks through the gathered kids and their wine-drunk parents. Anathema catches sight of him first and waves him over.

He goes to meet her, sidestepping a child eating what he suspects are leaves, and she passes him a plastic cup.

“Beer,” she tells him, and drains her own.

“Nice place,” Crowley says, looking around the sprawling garden, the small deck on the back of the white brick house.

Anathema groans and shakes her head. “Thank fuck for Aziraphale, honestly, finding somewhere big enough on two days’ notice was going to be impossible.”

“Well, seems like everything is going good eh, nothing else can happen,” Crowley says, then chokes on his beer when Anathema smacks him on the back of the head.

“Idiot! You’ve jinxed us now!”

Crowley rolls his eyes and steps out of reach. “Keep your voodoo to yourself, that’s not a thing.”

He trips over a croquet ball as he stalks off.

Then his beer goes flying into the one stroller at the party with a kid still in it.

As he’s apologizing and trying to help mop up the mess, a man comes over, radiating tranquility.

“Bit of a mess, eh? No harm, we’ll get everyone sorted.” He lifts the squalling, sticky child from its equally sticky mother. “Come inside, dear, we’ll get you both cleaned up.”

As he leads the way into the house he pauses and looks at Crowley. “Are you all right?”

Crowley manages a nod, still mortified beyond reason. “Yeah, fine, go, go get them…” and he flaps his hand at the mother and babe. “I’ve got this,” he adds, motioning to the stroller.

The man nods. “Come along, then,” he says to the mother, and they disappear into the house.

“What the fuck,” Crowley hisses to himself as he dabs at the stroller with a handful of cocktail napkins. Its been ages since he so thoroughly embarrassed himself that quickly.

He looks around and spies a garden hose and pushes the stroller over to soak it. As he’s flipping it upside-down to dry Anathema stomps over.

“Not only _that_ ,” she gestures at the garden, where the party continues on as though a newborn wasn’t just baptized by the holiest of wheats, “but now the clown has cancelled.” She smacks him upside the head again. “Jinx! I told you!”

“Oh dear, what’s happened?” The blonde man, saviour of babes everywhere, has approached, watching Anathema smack Crowley and look torn between intervening or just standing by.

Crowley can tell this man knows Anathema very well.

“Apparently Rocko the Party Clown partied too hard last night, because he’s called to let me know he’s hungover and not showing up,” Anathema snaps, and the way she glares at Crowley you’d think he’d been the one pouring whisky shots down Rocko’s throat last night.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” the man says. He’s frowning as he surveys the gathered horde. Crowley guesses he’s thinking of the rioting that’s bound to occur when they’re told their entertainment is called off.

“It’s all right,” Anathema sighs. “Really, Aziraphale, just being able to give them this party is more than I expected, so, thank you.”

She leans in and kisses his cheek, flips Crowley off, and goes back to the party.

Crowley’s feeling like maybe he should beat a quick retreat when Aziraphale clears his throat pointedly.

“I have an idea. It may be enough to turn this around for them,” the man says, and then looks at Crowley. “I’ll need your help.”

Guilt pounds at his temples and has Crowley nodding eagerly. “Course. Sure, yeah. What?”

\- - -

“No, not _handlebar_ , a curl up, it curls _up_ —”

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist, you just have the bone structure for it, is all.”

“…is that a _good_ thing?”

\- - -

Aziraphale turns apologetic eyes on him.

“I’m afraid my assistant’s costume only comes in one colour.”

“Why does that— _no_ , I am _not_ playing a part in this, and definitely not as your assistant.”

“But I need somebody for the rabbit trick.”

“Get— get Anathema to do it.”

Aziraphale tuts at him. “ _Really_ , this is meant to be a surprise for her.”

“But!” Crowley protests. Aziraphale looks at him— no, he _Looks_ at him, and somehow conveys the misery of street cats and the sound of orphans singing a hopeful show tune in his gaze.

Crowley is powerless against it, equally revolted and entranced.

“Just the bottom half?” he squeaks, and clears his throat roughly.

All of the street cats are taken in to the homes that all of the orphans have been adopted into when Aziraphale smiles at him next.

“Lovely,” he says, and hands over the pink sequined tutu.

\- - - 

Anathema’s jaw drops, and then she turns a huge grin on him.

“Shut up,” Crowley growls.

“It suits you,” she tells him, still beaming.

“Fuck off.”

She’s right, though.

\- - -

Aziraphale is, Crowley decides seven minutes in, a complete bastard.

“I need someone to help with the rabbit trick,” Crowley mocks under his breath, wiping sweat from his upper lip. “If I knew you meant by _being_ the bloody rabbit I would’ve—”

There is a pointed knock against the box he hides in and he glares and sticks his tongue out but otherwise goes quiet.

He gets his cue to spring up, but more’s the pity, his foot’s fallen asleep, and he struggles so mightily that by the time he’s finally able to leap up, Aziraphale has leaned over expectantly, and the top of Crowley’s head meets his face in a rocket-launched kiss from Hell.

Anathema is laughing hard enough Crowley fuzzily hopes she chokes on it.

\- - -

“Christ, it feels like you tried to eat my head,” Crowley says, wincing as he shifts the ice pack around on his head.

Aziraphale sits with blood-soaked cloths pressed to his nose and gives Crowley as apologetic a look as he can through one blackening eye. “I am terribly sorry. I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

“No, I figured you don’t usually try to brain the rabbit in front of the kids. Be bad for repeat business, wouldn’t it?”

Aziraphale chuckles. “At least we got a few card tricks in before the bloodshed.”

They’d all been fumbled miserably, but Aziraphale looks determined to find something positive about the whole fiasco, so Crowley nods. “That we did,” he says neutrally.

“I admit, you scared the hell out of me,” Aziraphale says, and sits back in his chair gingerly, eyes crossed to see what his nose thinks of this move. “One second, nothing, and then suddenly this mass of fiery head just—” and he throws his hand up.

Crowley cackles. “It was like being born and the doctor going _actually, nope, just pop back in there for a bit longer_.”

They’re both laughing, then Aziraphale snorts, then it’s literally a bloody mess for about two minutes, and maybe Crowley carries on a bit more than normal but Aziraphale won’t stop smiling at him. He looks a sight, blood smeared over his top lip, his penciled-on mustache smudged into his skin, left eye bruised, and still just glowing with joy.

Crowley literally can’t keep himself from asking. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Aziraphale smiles back and nods. “Yes, I do.”

The next time Crowley asks Aziraphale about a date, they have to confirm it with caterers and florists and a lovely young man who will bake the cake.

The next time Aziraphale smiles back and says, “Yes, I do,” Crowley says it too.

Not bad, for a jinx.

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of nowhere. I am so thankful to Good Omens for rekindling my writing fire. I feel alive again after months of writer's block, which I will now invite to munch my butt.


End file.
